Dead Over Heels by Alison Kemper Read Free Book Online Page B

Every fiber of my being is shrieking, No! hold on! Don’t move! But the deer stand isn’t nailed down—only wedged into the fork of the branches. It won’t last much longer.
    I force myself to stop watching the Beavers. To focus on relocating to the nearest sturdy branch. Fingers shaking, I shoulder my purse and ease myself off the stand.
    Not a moment too soon. Wham! Both Beavers slam the tree at the same time, making every leaf shudder.
    I shriek, digging my fingernails into the knobby bark and praying I won’t fall. Cole fights for balance, leaning dangerously as the deer stand finally rattles loose. He grabs the branch above mine and hoists himself up. Below us, the wooden board tumbles end over end to the ground.
    Wham! I hug my branch even tighter, struggling to stay in the tree. My phone stops ringing and some small, insane part of my brain wants to fish it out and check if my parents left a message. Above me, Cole is in motion, scooting along his branch, creeping away from the trunk where his limb is thinner, less stable.
    “What the hell are you doing?” I shriek.
    With every inch, his branch becomes flimsier, bobbing with each Beaver hit. Any second, he’s gonna topple out of his perch and become Bubba’s breakfast.
    “I’m trying to reach that!” Cole points at the neighboring tree—a massive oak with boughs long enough to span the river. Even in this darkness, I can see the bulk of its trunk. I don’t care what kind of super-strength the Beavers have—there’s no way they could knock down that colossal oak.
    Wham! Bubba head-butts our smaller tree again. Cole’s branch wobbles like he’s riding a bucking bronco. The Beavers take a few steps backward, getting momentum for another hit, but Cole’s making his move, using the upward motion of his branch to half leap, half grab the nearest oak limb.
    For the briefest instant, I think he won’t make it. That his hands will miss the bough and he’ll fall right on Bubba’s head. But Cole’s sure and steady—his movements almost catlike as he snags the limb. He pulls himself to safety. I want to cheer and faint simultaneously.
    And then I realize it’s my turn to repeat the same stunt.
    “Ohmygod. No.” I squeeze my branch tighter. “No, I can’t do that.”
    “Yes, you can.”
    “No, no,” I repeat, pressing my forehead against the rough bark.
    “I’m gonna help you, Ava,” he shouts from twenty feet away. In the darkness, his clothes seem to melt into the background. “Just move closer. It’s only a few yards.”
    But I’m frozen in place.
    Cole swears. His tone changes. “Suck it up, Ava. Move your ass. Stop being such a damn wuss.”
    Something in his words spur me into motion. I am not a wuss.
    Mr. Beaver tries that tree-jiggling thing again. A few more good shakes and he’ll knock me loose.
    “Ohmygod, ohmygod.” I force myself to take a brief scoot along the limb.
    “Don’t look down, girl.”
    Now, that was the wrong thing to say. I tilt my head to peek around the branch. Bubba has moved away from the tree trunk and now stands directly below me. Just waiting for me to fall.
    “Ohmygod, ohmygod.” I press my face back into the bark.
    “I’m serious, Ava. Get your ass in gear, or I’m leaving without you.”
    Goddammit, I hate this boy. Hate this stupid boy. I drag myself a few more feet. The branch droops with my weight.
    “You’re almost there. Almost.”
    Wham!
    The limb jerks and my purse slips from my shoulder, sliding, getting trapped on my wrist where my right hand grips the tree.
    “No!” I scream, as my purse dangles in the air. If I move my hand to secure it, I’ll lose my hold on the branch.
    “Don’t try it!” Cole shouts. “Let it fall.”
    I clench my jaw. “No. Way. In. Hell.”
    I sit up, clamping the branch with my thighs, squeezing hard with my left hand, my nails digging into the bark.
    “Rawwwrrr….” Bubba moans from below. His glowing eyes fix on my body. One false move and I’m his